Off Somewhere
by charliesdarKangel
Summary: ...This exchange to Jericho felt like a sudden dip into a nightmare, and perhaps it was.


A/N: Showcase; daymare-Starring Y2J. I can't explain exactly what this is-My thoughts were jumbled writing this and I took it into a different direction than I had planned, but hope it's not too ridiculous. One line explains the whole thing toward the end-Think a little bit figuratively. Lyrics to Blood Happens by Fozzy. Rated T for Language and a little violence.

* * *

_I'm a Street sweeper,_

_Scene stealer,_

_Double-barrelled key keeper,_

_Living my life on the fly,_

* * *

The Ayatollah of Rock 'n' Rolla stood behind the microphone on the platform with the other members of Fozzy, grinning at the waves of hundreds of faces captured beneath the violet-blue flash of the stage lights. Rich thrummed a jamming guitar solo near his right as the other Stuck Mojo member remained on the stool behind his drum set pounding out a couple of _ba-dums _while the other guitarists, Billy and Paul, joined Chris around the edge of the stage and rode with the flow of the pumped up crowd, screaming their lungs out and touching the hands that strived to reach them. His heart swelled in joy elevated from the ecstatic roars before him-He felt like the king of the world with the gift of song in depth, this divide in his life his wrestling career demanded at times he needed it most.

The aging wrestler/rockstar lifted his chin upward at a white flickering light in the distance, probably about two hundred feet away, give or take. His gentle blue eyes peered closely at it for a moment longer only to disregard the peculiar sight as a really tall kid grasping a giant flashlight from Costco or so, but how utterly ridiculous that sounded. The same grin remained plastered on his face, but the chanting and hollaring of the crowd seemed to tweak and decrease the longer he stared, a low humming sound near his right ear.

Chris couldn't tear his gaze away no matter the action wrapping continuously around him even as his band members exchanged puzzled looks, slapping him with the sense of awareness that paralyzed a body at the sight of a thing the eyes shouldn't see but can't help but stare, except this exchange to Jericho felt like a sudden dip into a nightmare, and perhaps it was. His eyes took on the look of a drunken glaze in addition to the eerie smile curving his lips. The light, a hot white globe expanding suchlike a rising sun over a sea of fans, began to float toward him and the little air left in Chris's lungs dispersed near completely through his nose. A chill travelled down his spine as his surroundings began to lose their touch of reality and he realized the light had sped in it's agonizingly slow progress between forty and fifty feet forward-And continued to. The light consumed him internally as would a thousand-deep canyon to a pair of eyes on the unbraced. The enormous orb of light halted in it's slow unseen ascent above the masses toward Chris Jericho, the corner of the blond man's mouth twitching only slightly-And the light, with a sudden blinding surge, shot at him in a smack of daze-inducing strength that seemed to choke him. He proceeded through a portal that rose goosebumps to his damp pale skin, a winding never ending tunnel similar to that of his old titantron. A storm of rageful swears and cries of anger and confusion stifled in his throat amid this head maze, the sensation of falling abruptly overwhelming him seconds later as he dropped down a tunnel of white nothingness without a breath. Oh, God-he felt like-

_"-__**The best in the world**__, __**folks**__," a firm throaty voice rounded with awe and wonder exclaims, a tad familiar though unable to be placed, even as Chris believes it to belong to a man well past his seventies, "__**At what it does...**__" Applause follows in the white that appears to fade around him almost as if a sheet is pulled from his eyes. He's landed on what feels like a round rotating pedestal, the white fading more and more and the light that had taken him through this mind vortex zooming out from his vision-He drags the back of a sweaty hand over his eyes to block it out, but doesn't have to for long as it seems to have come from one of the several huge ceiling lights far above him. "The best in the world..." the voice continues, near muffled to Chris's irritation, "At what __**it**__ does..." And then, once more, the appause comes after-An almost robotic sound._

_"Guys...guys __**what the hell**__'__**s**__ going on..."_

_Chris stumbles on the slow spinning pedestal and rubs his eyes viciously, taking a relieved minute to regain what breath he'd lost through the head-warping globe of light. His other hand collaspes upon his heaving chest as he leans forward for a moment and briefly shuts his eyes as he couldn't see a damn thing looking into that fiery ball of light-Everything is dark while his pupils adjust to the new brightness of a surreal touch soaking him and his surroundings. The eyes on him-He can feel them easily-Tiny papercuts all over his back as he turns around from the sound and usually, the aging wrestler is prone to attention, makes sure of it by his grand entrances all eyes are on him, but this-This bothers him internally. Shit-He has zilch-nada-zero sense of his surroundings and he doesn't need a bunch of nobodies eyeing him like a caged zoo animal-Because he cetainly feels like one, oddly enough-The impression of being trapped in an over-lit department store swarms over him, and the muffled sounds from afar don't nessesarily provide the least bit of comfort, nor reassurance The Best in The World at What He Does's sanity is in tact._

_He continues to rub his gentle blues with fisted hands and stumbles off the pedestal, almost falls to the ground. If this is a dream, he can't awake from it. A horrid feeling he imagines would overwhelm the kids lost in their dreams on Elm Street fills him with a dizzy panic that throws his heart against his rib cage._

_"__**The best in the world**__," the voice sounds off again, "At what __**it**__ does..."_

_"Will you shut the hell up already," Chris growls, his hands retreating to massage his throbbing temples, eyes remaining closed, "__**We get it**__, you old bag. Now will you_ _**please**__, shut...the hell...up..." His eyes flash open after running his hands though his floppy blond hair and his breath catches in his throat, as if it's not already difficult for him to swallow this...illusion?_

_He stands within a cage-a cage identical to those used in his wrestling enviroment, except it's seventy-feet high nearly scraping the ceiling-upon a white stage and white backsetting. Before him and the man on the stage is an audience full of wrestlers, regulars and his band members. Within his steel cage is the pedestal, an electric guitar, knee pads and the Money in the Bank briefcase. Chris lunges forward slams his fists against the cage followed by swears and cries of help, but no one seems to hear him...except the familiar man under the bright lighting._

_"Now, now, Chris, __**that's not very nice**__," the old man scolds, bobbing his thin finger at him, his bushy eyebrows furrowing. "You don't want to __**lose**__ them, do you?"_

_Chris backs away from the front of the cage only to slam his foot into it. He moves around to the side of it toward the old man and adjusts his eyesight. He's seen this man before, but where? A voice so familiar, carried from lips the man licked occasionally. His aged frail hands close around the microphone he holds to his mouth once more,_

_"The best in the world, folks," that pause annoys Jericho to unexplainable lengths, "At what__** it**__ does..." The old man's hand gestures toward the cage to Chris and once again the crowd robotically claps their hands in unison. The Best in the World at What He Does is...offended._

_"I'm __**not**__ a machine!" The blond man shouts, "What do you mean, '__**it**__'? I'm __**not**__ an object! I'm __**not**__ a ma-BOB BARKER?"_

_"__**It**__ can be __**yours**__ if the price is right!" Bob tells the crowd, and as if these words break their zombie-like demeanors, they burst into excited claps and cheers. Bob then turns his attention to Chris for one moment, "Sure you are, boy-__**You're a piece of work**__!"_

_Lillian Garcia stands in a platform at the far right of the room, a microphone to her glossy pink lips as she calls with a wide smile, "CM Punk, come on __**dooown**__!"_

_Chris Jericho presses his face against the front of the doorless cage as the Straight-Edge Superstar jumps up in a wild cricle of screaming fans, a victor raising his hands in the air and a sharp dark eyebrow arched over deep brownish hazel eyes that focuse on Jericho for a moment before sharing the enthusiasm of the crowd with just a tad bit of smugness. For a brief moment he stands on the maroon cushion of the chair and raises the WWE title above his head, a new roar of cheers sounding off as result. The corner of the champion's mouth upturns as his feet touch the floor and after high-fiving and fist bumping Kofi Kingston and Colt Cabana on either side of him he makes his way toward one of the four podiums up front before the stage while hands reach to pat the back of his newer gray name-branded t-shirt and lights reflect off of the Best in the World's lip ring, hitting the caged Y2J in the left eye._

_"What __**is**__ this!" he yells at Bob Barker over the hysteria of the audience, "Answer me, old man! Is this supposed to be funny? What __**is**__ this! I'm __**not**__ an object! You can't __**give**__ me away! I'm Chris Jericho, damn it! You're out of your freakin mind!"_

_"Dolph Ziggler, come on __**dooown**__!"_

_The fourty-one year old wrestling rockstar continues to scream at the game show's retired host as The Show-Off jumps three feet out of his seat in what follows as near five minutes of pre-bid excitement, the bleach-blond man shaking his behind while gesturing to himself in the aisle shouting "YEEAAH, BABY! THAT'S WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT!" Vickie Guerrero, in the seat beside his empty one, squeals in shrill delight at this while Jack Swagger a few seats away and Mark Henry in the aisle across from them plug their ears along with a couple of regulars the entire time. Chris rams his fists repeatedly against the cage,_

_"Answer me!" he calls angrily, "Hey-HEY! __**HEY**__! What's going on!" he backs away to rattle the cage with his booted foot again, "Answer me!"_

_"Hmph," Brie Bella sighs, her and her twin sister Nikki on either side of the cage, each in gorgeous smooth white silk gowns. The dark-haired beauty covers her ears in agitation, "__**This noise is awful**__."_

_Chris darts over to the side of the cage nearest her and charges a fist into the intertwining steel, "What's going on! Answer me!"_

_"Christian, come on __**dooown**__!" Jillian announces into the mic, and the audience rises in liveliness. Chris's head jerks forward and a glimmer of hope shimmers in the King of the World's eyes when his old tag-team partner stands from his seat in the very back among his Peeps as an amiable smile curves his mouth at their warm reception. Captain Charisma starts toward the low podium down the aisle beside Ziggler, who's turned toward the crowd, gesturing to himself in pride and muttering inaudible phrases of self-admirement. After following in his competition's footsteps, but directly to the podium-back-slaps and high-fives-the thin wise-eyed man plants himself before the small microphone. Punk's eyes hardly graze Jericho, lazily studious and the slightest bit impressed. The lights in the ceiling begin to annoy Chris a tad bit-He rubs his eyes and turns away, almost tripping over the pedestal once more when Jillian's voice sounds through the noise of the audience,_

_"Rich Ward, come on __**dooown**__!"_

_The fourty-three year old lead guitarist of Fozzy raises his fists in the air, a tatted musician with dark blonde hair down to his shoulders, after standing from a mid-seat in the far left of the room among his other band members, the excitement slightly plummeting as the fourth contestant of the game is chosen. A game, Chris scoffs. This isn't a game. Games were for children-Peek-a-boo was a game. Hide and seek and Tag were games. Patty Cake was a game. Hell, this game show was supposed to be fun-A game, wasn't it? But this, restrained by steel in a wacky overlit department store completely ignored by all but one old man who wasn't making any sense? Chris begins to pull at his hair as he presses his face against the front of the cage wall again and watches as the The Duke finds a place beside Christian at the end of the podium, intent on conjuring up distractions to get his attention, but sadly falls into the noisy routine of banging his fists against the steel._

_It hits him suddenly when his head snaps up-The top is open and able to be climbed over. Caught in a strange moment of continuing to squint up, he shakes his head clear and a brief wave of idiocy and relief consumes him, cut short as he hurries across the caged interior of his keeping to pull the black knee pads on over the dry-wash jeans of his street clothes, glancing up but not able to for long as the humongous burning bright lights jutting from the ceiling sting his eyes. The American-Canadian strides over the front of the cage and exhales the nerves beading sweat along his temples before sliding his fingers through the diamond spaces of the cage and hoisting himself up to land a good foot on the steel and begins to climb with closed eyes to shut out the incredibly strong light, only to slip on his footing and drop to a kneel near the pedestal. Chris lets out an irritated cry and rubs his eyes._

_"Punk, __**please**__ place your bid," Bob Barker tells the Straight-Edge Superstar, who scratches his chin peering at Jericho. Bob turns to give the Highlight Reel host a cryptic wink that drives him mad-The wrestling rockstar dashes forward and slams his fists against the cage roaring-The swears and indecipherable cries cut short when Dolph rolls his bright blue eyes and gestures to the 'prize',_

_"You expect us to want _**that**_?" The younger man angles himself to appoint his outrage at Jericho to the crowd, who eats up the incitement of the contestant. "I mean, come on, Bob-You call it the 'best in the world at what __**it**__ does'? I call it a washed up __**waste**__ of my time."_

_Why the hell did these people continue to act as if he were mindless-Continued to look past the cage as if they saw more than a man cornered by steel-As if he were a cyborg in a glass box? Chris leans into the cage to get a closer look at the bleach-blond man nudging Punk and gesturing toward the stage incredulously._

_"Washed up," Chris mutters to himself, swallowing despite his dry mouth and seemingly in the daze that'd brought him here, "Washed up. I'm __**not**__. Washed up."_

_The Voice of the Voiceless cocks his head at him, "Yeah, I'm __**not**__ convinced. I'm sorry, Bob, you said it's the best in the world at what __**it**__ does?" Punk's face softens with disbelief, "Come on now, __**let's be fair**__: Not calling you a __**liar**__, but don't suggest we're __**naive**__."_

_Dolph scoffs, "I'm __**better**__ than this. I've seen __**better**__. And I mean, if you expect me to stand here and __**spit out**__ a price for some washed up out of touch __**junk**__...It's __**old**__!"_

_"Old?__** Old?**__ I __**defeated**__ you..." Chris says, near inaudible, and then louder. "I defeated you-You must have smacked the floor pretty hard when I dug that nice little briefcase in your gut. __**I won the big one**__. I __**DEFEATED**__ YOU! __**I won the big one**__!"_

_"What do you mean, '__**old**__'?" Christian replies to Dolph, sliding a hand through his short blond hair, "It was pretty awesome __**back**__ in the day and __**still**__ is. Quit your __**complaining**__."_

_"Well, you'd __**know**__ what it was like back in the day, wouldn't __**you**__?" Dolph mumbled, looking him over amused before shifting his eyes away bitterly. "You'd know pretty __**well**__."_

_"Come on, __**buddy**__..." Jericho calls to Christian even as his voice is too low to be heard and even if he did shout, it still wouldn't be, "Get me __**out**__ of here. We've had our differences in the past but for Heaven's sake you have to __**get me out**__ of here..."_

_"What exactly does __**it**__ have to offer?" Captain Charisma asks, eyes narrowing on the stage. Bob turns to give Chris that cryptic wink,_

_"__**Your time is running out**__..."_

_Chris pulls at his hair for a moment before banging his fists against the cage, "What are you talking about! What do you mean, __**my time is running**__...I don't understand...is this a dream? Why can't I wake up? Why are they__** acting like I'm not even**__...Fucking answer me!"_

_Rich props his elbow up atop the podium and drops his chin into his hand, "I'm not sure __**it**__ handles multi-tasking-That's __**important**__."_

_Chris's reasonable confusion falters for a moment in return for fury that his band member looks right at him and says this so nonchalantly, "__**What**__?" He licks his lips, caught in the daze again, "__**What**__ are you implying? __**This**__ is my life-I'm a __**wrestler**__-I'm a __**musician**__-And you're __**unsure**__ I can't..." His head tilts as he squints under the ultra-bright lighting, "How __**dare**__ you. __**All **__of you! I'm __**Chris Jericho**__, damn it-I can __**do**__ anything!" He points at Ziggler, "While I was busy winning the __**first**__ championship of my career you were just a little snot-nosed __**brat**__. And __**you**__," He points at Punk, "Mister oh-so 'original' Best in the World was just a __**gawky**__ teen doing backyard stunts!" his eyes dart to Christian, "You should __**know**__-I've shown the world what I have to offer and isn't it __**promising**-__ I...am __**the**__ best...in the world...at what...I do...I've followed my __**dreams**__-wrestler, musician," he glares at Rich, "Actor, author, business man! Media personality! I am __**unstoppable**__! I'm Chris Jericho!" Chris whips around to grab the closest thing to him-the guitar-when it vanishes, and then moves to snatch the briefcase when it disappears in the blink of an eye also. He growls and runs to slam his fists against the front of the cage when Dolph shrugs,_

_"Can't do __**everything**__ forever...sooner or later __**it**__ begins to rust...__**doesn't even work anymore**__..."_

_Chris shifts his eyes up after pulling his hands away from the cage, holding a reddened hand up to shield the light enough to see the briefcase and the guitar hanging from the top of the ceiling. Bob turns to give him the cryptic wink lastly,_

_"Don't have time to __**break the walls down**__, son...This is the __**only way**__ to get out..."_

_Chris blocks out Dolph's and Punk's chastening and once again slides his fingers through the diamond spaces of the cage, holding himself up firmly enough to get a good steady footing on the steel and rise himself up a few feet. He realizes the cage walls are beginning to close slowly inward and the voices at the podium are increasing in volume-The voices telling him he's washed up, he's lost his touch, he's a waste of time-rusting around the edges-questionable what he has to offer the world, in question his status, unsure of his ability to handle his own lifestyle-_Enough, _he thinks, as the voices grow louder. The cage walls have sunken inward two feet in a strange distorted fashion. The voices push him and he continues to climb. Up, up, up, as quick, but as careful as he can while shielding his eyes from the burning bright light. The farther he climbs the brighter the light shines, the louder the voices carry-Chris can hardly take it. He suppresses the rage burning in his stomach-_Not true, _he swallows, _It's not true, _and at fifteen feet he almost falls, a hand slips, but his footing keeps him rooted to the spot. His hands begin to shake terribly, but he continues up the seventy-foot cage, grinding his teeth against the voices and squinting away the light while sweat mats his floppy blond hair to his forehead. The Ayatollah of Rock 'n' Rolla jerks his speed up a tad to get him ten more feet ahead to a near half mark, _I can do this, _he tells himself, _I have to do this, if I fall I'll die-_The voices feel like crackling shouts right beside his ears-They only infuriate him, but what else can he do than dismiss them and climb higher-If he dares look down his heart threatens to jump in his throat, the floor below threatens to kiss him goodnight, he squints against the glare of the light and can see the dangling items only briefly before closing his eyes again as his temple throbs ceaselessly. At forty-five feet he can hardly breathe as his heart jumps and his hands tremble. The voices are bellows-screams-that rise redness to his eyes and he closes them for a moment, wetness gliding down his already damp cheeks that pushes him higher and faster up to sixty feet. _You can do this, _he tells himself, _You're Chris Jericho, damn it. You can do this._He breathes though his nose steadily and advances farther up the cage, eyes shut painfully tight to block the light out, even as a blaring red takes the shade of his eyelids beneath. He might go insane-These voices continue to shove him higher but his ears may bleed, his mentality feels as if it's being chipped around the edges, but he climbs up, up, up, eyes shut, sweat sliding down his back until his hands curve around the thick steel top and he drapes an arm over and hooks his fingers in while exhaling slowly and sticking his free hand out to feel for the briefcase and the guitar, the voices seeming muffled in an instant. He can't open his eyes or the light will blind him, but he feels for them._

_"You can only choose __**one**__..." Barker tells him, as if he's a child in a toystore. _Bullshit, _Chris snaps, _I do it all and I always will.

_He reaches for both items and can feel them, first the briefcase and then the guitar. He takes a hold of the item farthest from him-the briefcase, and then unwraps his arm from around the rim of the cage to grab a hold of the guitar before propelling himself from the cage. He hangs there with a grip on the items, expecting to drop and find himself split between realities in Earth 616 or in the fourth dimension or Oz, maybe, but yet his feet dangle and the items hold him there. To his horror the cage walls are continuing to close in on him and Bob's voice echoes,_

_"You can only choose __**one**__..."_

_Chris refuses to let go even as the cage lunges faster toward him-around him-and he tightens the grip of his hands. _No, _he thinks, _Not now. Never. **I don't have to sell myself to anyone**. I am what I am and I do what I do the best. I don't have to choose.

_He puts more weight on the items and they snap off. The ground seems closer than before as he falls through the steel cage tunnel in a length of about half a minute, his heart seeming to have dropped in his stomach. He isn't sure what'll happen when he hits the floor, but when he does the impact stuns him into one of his suggested outcomes, sort of. The moment he almost bounces off the ground on his back the light from the ceiling shoots down into his eyes and a voice pinches him from the distance,_

_"Chris...? __**Chris**__...? I don't know what...he's __**scaring**__ the hell out of me, Vickie..." the voice breaks through the muffled sounds and he can feel himself shaking._

_"I dont know __**what's**__ wrong with him..."_

The Best in the World at What He Does focused his eyes on the duo standing before him in the men's locker room, which was hardly occupied at this rare moment. Dolph's hand was clamped over his shoulder, shaking him, while his manager stood back with her hands on her hips and her face scrunched studiously in fear. The moment Dolph realized Chris had come out of his still daze, he snatched his hand away and slowly moved back toward Vickie, replacing his expression of genuine concern with one of ridicule and curiosity. The older man blinked hard and let his back hit the lockers behind him, his hand coming to his heart in uncertainty. His heart rate was incredibly high. It was then that Dolph realized this Chris was not the same man he'd just defeated in the ring and asked Vickie if she could grab a water bottle from catering. His manager raised an eyebrow at Jericho,

"I think I should get **help**. He looks..."

"**No**," The Show-off replies, his voice softening in the worry he contained, "No. He's fine, probably just needs some H2o." He certainly hoped that was all. Dolph pondered if the man losing his contract had played a factor in him wandering off somewhere in his thoughts-Some place distant, as the bleach-blond man had stormed into the locker room in a sort of irate post-victory from Jericho's poor sportsmanship and found his opponent in a lost daze. After Vickie left the room he reached to touch Chris, but his hand was knocked away,

"Don't **touch** me."

Dolph raised his hands up defensively and backed away farther, rolling his sky-blue eyes, "Fine. **Fine**. Whatever. Just trying to help out the man who just slammed **my** briefcase..." A smirk curved the corner of his mouth for a moment, "Well it doesn't even matter now, does it?"

Chris's voice was hoarse, "There's the **door**. Go out and celebrate, kid-Hell, drink your guts out. I don't need **help **and if you think I need **yours** I highly suggest you take your head out of your ass for once."

The door opened and Vickie glided inside with a cold water bottle, placing it in Dolph's hand. His eyes never left Chris and she leaned to whisper she'd be outside at which he nodded, before departing again. What followed was silence between them despite chatter across the room and finally, eyes narrowed, Dolph stepped forward to hand the bottle to Chris, who rubbed his eyes hard and turned away in refusal.

"Wow," Dolph scoffed, setting the water down on the bench and moving to the spot Chris had just leaned against to gather his things from the locker. "Last night's big jackpot winner can't even shake my hand...? I mean, not that I'm surprised-"

Chris walked around to the opposite side of the lockers, staring at the briefcase set down beside the younger man, "You just terminated my contract-I don't even want to **look** at you." He closed his eyes and sighed after a short while of stilled silence of which an airy arrogance sliced through. "Sure. Fine. You defeated Chris Jericho. But-"

"No-that's **it**, dammit!-I got the better of you, that's all there is to it," Dolph cut in, throwing him a frank look over his shoulder as he leaned to pick up his travelling bag. "Guess that dreaded tornado of disillusion swept you _somewhere_ into Lala Land-just not Oz."

Chris began to protest with dull outrage, but stopped himself...Fine. It was okay. He was okay. It wasn't as if this was it. He could accept this. He could do anything-Which included travelling around the world with a heavy-metal rock band and returning to set a whirlpool in the WWE. It was okay. It was fine. He brushed a hand over his hair, opened his mouth to snap a snarky reply but closed it after this-what had this been exactly...this mid-life crisis of some sort-left him laughing silently to himself for a moment before shaking his head, and sticking his hand out to Dolph, who looked at him almost incredulously. Chris exhaled deeply and nodded robotically, practically spitting through his teeth, "**Congratulations**. You just **scored** on The Best in the World at **What He Does**."

Ziggler stared at the older man's hand for about a minute and a half, and then shook it in vigorous mockery. "Just so you **know**, wrestling is like the **_fifth_** best thing I do, so I guess this makes me **the **Best in the World at the-"

Jericho ripped his hand away and hooked his hands around Dolph's head, dragging him away from the benches before suceeding in a sloppy Codebreaker. Bad pain shot up his back from the hard cold ground, but Chris didn't really care. Dolph lay faced down, a trail of blood sliding from his nose. Chris kicked the briefcase out of his way as he went to grab his already packed wrestling gear in his duffel bag and walked on his merry way out of the men's locker room after retrieving the bottle of water sitting on the bench when the other few wrestlers in the locker room began to gather.

"You could only dream, **junior**."

* * *

_I'm a Code breaker,_

_Faith shaker,_

_Armor-plated earthquaker,_

_Not gonna stop til I die_

* * *

Thanks to anyone that checked this out :D Kinda harsh on Dolph xD a cherry on top to Chris's temporary departure (apart from the 'case in the side), just a crazy factor to top it off-DZ'll be WHChamp pretty soon (maybe a follow-up to this when Y2J returns)...


End file.
